


you can be king again

by hwarium



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Captive Prince Fusion, Enemies to Lovers, Lovers To Enemies, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:00:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25125838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hwarium/pseuds/hwarium
Summary: After the death of Prince Jisoo at Marlas, Prince Dokyeom thought he would never set foot in Vere. But a coup is all it takes for him to be shipped across the border as a pleasure slave, landing into a royal court housing old secrets, deadly conspiracies, and the ice-cold Prince Jeonghan, twin brother of Jisoo and now first in line to the throne.
Relationships: Lee Seokmin | DK/Yoon Jeonghan
Comments: 23
Kudos: 58
Collections: Enduring Dawn Round 1





	you can be king again

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you mods for your enduring patience. May your day be bright like DK's smile in the My My live.
> 
> Content notes: the Captive Prince series contains dubious + non-consent, pedophilia and (spoiler) incest. I have left it out of this fic so that no archive warnings apply, though I have written in a way where you may read in connotations.

_Three years ago_

“You would like Jeonghan.”

Seokmin reached over to sweep the hair over Jisoo’s face, “Hm? Just because I like you?”

Jisoo smiled, eyes crinkling, “Perhaps.” He leant forward into Seokmin’s touch, easing from the shadows, warm sun lighting him golden. This is what Seokmin remembers of him. Vere’s crown prince sitting in the sunset, their ankles locked together as they sat side by side amongst the ruins of Delfeur. He remembers the way Jisoo smiled, how the corners of his lips and his eyes tilted upwards. The sweat on his adam’s apple as he swallowed. His biceps pulsing as he swung the sword.

“We may be twins,” Jisoo continues, “But he is different to me too. Observant, thoughtful. He could read your moods and serve you without your knowing. He hands me a flask before I’m thirsty, excuses me just when a courtier just becomes too persistent. When I just start to miss him, I find a letter already delivered.”

“He sounds so kind,” Seokmin says wistfully.

“He is,” Jisoo laughs, “But he also isn’t. Between the two of us, his mischief could destroy minds. Out of love, he could tease you to tears.”

“That does not sound polite,” Seokmin nudged Jisoo, “You’ll protect me won’t you?”

“No, I’ll aid and abet then laugh.”

“Then I’ll like him more than you.”

Jisoo jabbed a hard finger into his chest. Seokmin pushes back, forceful enough for Jisoo to fall off the ledge. But his quick fingers latches on to Seokmin’s sleeve and he is falling also, tumbling onto Jisoo into the grass. Jisoo tries to pinch his nipple and Seokmin yelps, grappling for the sensitive part of his sides. Then Jisoo is worming into his armpits and the both of them are tickling each other relentlessly, laughing until they almost suffocate themselves.

Later, they are panting on their backs, the sun has gone down. It is silent save for the rustle of the wind through the grass and the soft timbre of Jisoo’s voice that Seokmin could never forget —

“When there is finally peace, I would love for you to meet him. My two favourite people in the world.”

Seokmin smiles into Jisoo’s shoulder, “I would like to meet him too.”

Dokyeom wakes up with ash in his lungs. He sits up but his head spins and there is rope taut around his wrist and arms. There are armed men all around him, Akielon soldiers dressed in the royal yellow. He opens his mouth but the muscles there are sluggish, his tongue cotton.

He is in his mother’s arms. She is crying and stroking his hair, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

The men are binding his arms and she is just there. _Mother what are you doing. What is happening?_

His mother continues to lean over him as the men bind his arms, working around her.

“This is the only way. I’m so sorry my son,” she whispers.

The sky outside is red. The bells are ringing.

_Mother the palace is burning. Ios is burning. I need to go._

Dokyeom’s heart is cracking, his mind is whirring. He is the crown prince and his people —

_Where is father? What of Hansollie?”_

He can hear chanting in the streets.

_The King is dead! Long live King Kiyeol!_

Dokyeom tries to push against her but he only manages to lift his head but then someone shoves a wet cloth in his nose and Dokyeom blacks out.

* * *

The next time he wakes it is dark. He smells salt water and feels the soft rocking of a ship. Dokyeom bites his lip to clear his head.

How long has it been since his capture? What is happening at home? Why? _Where are they going?_

There are other slaves in the same room as him, huddled together for warmth as there were barely enough blankets to go around to cover their bodies. Several of them looked pale and seasick.

His vision swam and Dokyeom tries to stand on his feet but the ship sways and he stumbles, chains rattling loudly.

One of the slaves look up, fluffy hair falling over his scared eyes. He immediately lowered his head in submission but there was no sign he recognised Dokyeom as the crown prince.

Dokyeom quickly ran a glance at the other slaves. He recognised none of them from the slaves which served the royal palace. Each one was beautiful and lovely, soft flesh that have been smothered with care for over a decade. The one in front of him had exactly the type of face Dokyeom himself would have liked and chosen if they met in Ios.

He still had no idea what he was doing on a boat with a dozen pleasure slaves.

Dokyeom widened his eyes and looked down at himself. On his arms were iron cuffs that kept him chained to a corner. But above them were golden bands, simple but exquisitely crafted. The symbol of a slave.

He looked up at the slave, still motionless and awaiting orders. Behaviour exemplary of a slave trained at the best Akielon gardens. Perhaps he would have been assigned to the palace.

“What is your name,” Dokyeom said gently.

“They call me Jaehyun.”

“Do you know where are we going?”

Jaehyun quakes, “I’m sorry to disappoint, but I do not know. They told us nothing.”

“It’s fine.”

“Shit, he’s up.”

Veretian voices. Dokyeom freezes. They were going to Vere. Thousands of miles from Ios. This doesn’t make sense. His father was dead. His home was in flames and here he was on a ship bound to the country where every single person hated him. Yet he was a slave.

The door opens and out of instinct, Dokyeom lunges forward but the chain at his leg catches and he falls.

“Woah, woah,” a man shuffles backwards and yells over his shoulder, “hurry up.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the next man that comes in his masked. He skirts around Dokyeom to the corner and lights a match. There is a rustle of paper and soon, the room is filled with smoke and Dokyeom feels his eyelids slowly slipping.

* * *

Dokyeom slowly comes to. This time, he doesn’t move, stays still as he forces the fog to clear from his head. He checks each of his limbs. Still restrained. There is something heavy around his neck and he feels fresh, although he has no recollection of being cleaned.

There was a low whistle, “Aren’t you something.”

“He’s… not like the others.” Two guards.

“Special one just for the Prince they said.”

“Doesn’t look like much of a slave,” a voice said dubiously, “He’s ripped like a horse.”

“Probably a prisoner of war. Who knows.”

Even these guards don’t know that he is Prince Dokyeom of Akielos. Stranger and stranger. He tilted his head to listen.

“Do you think the Crown Prince will actually,” the voice lowered, “bend over?”

A snort. “12 silver he won’t, the Prince has never taken anyone to bed and he won’t start with an Akielon.”

A door opens and then there is the pattering of feet. Soft hands pushes him up and he is faced with a servant that startles to see that he is awake. Dokyeom watches her face but she is impassive.

Cautiously, the servant pours oil on him, rubs his muscles until he is glistening. Then she perfumes him with roses and places jewellery on his body. There’s a sparkling contraption that looks like a necklace but for his entire torso, with two circles around his neck, then a thin line of gold down his throat to his chest, then an explosion of diamonds that trace his ribcage to his back.

Dokyeom allows the handling. His eyes flit to the two guards, both were well built but the shorter one was stockier and broader. The taller one had sharp eyes that disappeared when he smiled. Dokyeom checks their armour (simple leather). He examines the doors and the windows (curtained), the strength of the chain around his neck (2 metres, moderate).

“Good, he is ready for the Prince’s viewing,” another man comes in, more richly dressed than the others. He clucks in satisfaction and another servant appears, approaching Dokyeom to hook a chain onto the collar around his neck. The other side clicks onto an ornate staff held in the man’s hand.

Dokyeom was blindfolded and then he felt the tug on the chain. He caught himself just in time.

“Come.”

Dokyeom feels the cool air of the hallway outside the pets quarters. As they walked, he counts the footsteps and the turns until his head swam with dizzying coordinates. Doors open and shut, they turn right and right again and then left and then curved around a circular corridor. Maybe they were deliberately confusing him, or maybe the palace of Arles was designed to be a snarling labyrinth to match the mind of its masters.

Finally, his feet steps onto plush carpet and his ears were filled with noise. There is the smell of wine and cloying perfumes and the jingle of necklaces. The chatter quietens until a shove pushes him onto his knees. His neck jerks as his chain was refastened so low he could not keep his head up.

And then his blindfold was removed.

 _Wow the carpet is so nice_.

Even the pattern on the floor was complicated, twisting trellises and flowers intertwined —

Dokyeom squeezes his eyes shut. _Focus._ He shifts so that he could examine the room through his bangs. People. Locations. Information.

He was in the middle of a reception hall and haggles of courtiers decorated the sides, each dressed extravagantly in an excess of material. Pink chiffon shimmering over laced bodices, delicate ruffles blooming out of collars, braided cords trimming a waistcoat. There was barely an inch of skin that was not covered with fine material or jewellery. It was nothing like the pragmatic chitons of Akelios where pride was placed on the body itself and not the clothes that dressed it.

Almost each of the courtiers had a pet, almost naked but excessively decorated with jewellery and gems. In half a second’s glance, Dokyeom saw a courtier press grapes past a pet’s lips. Another had a pet’s head in their thighs, fingers threading through hair. And yet another courtier was sliding his hands between the legs of a blushing youth. Naive, pliant Akielon slaves like Jaehyun would be eaten alive.

Dokyeom did not recognise a single face, and neither did any of the reactions indicated that they knew who he was. And then he looked to the guards, dressed in a mix of red and brown. None of them wore the blue stag of Jisoo, but that was expected.

These courtiers look like they were allergic to the sun and exercise. Dokyeom could imagine how they spend their days, lounging indoors with spoilt pets on their laps, gossiping about each other’s private lives and gloating about riches and finery.

So this was the court of Vere, luscious, decadent, and saccharine —

Two heavy knocks rang and the room immediately stilled into silence.

The doors swung inwards and servant puffed his chest, “Prince Jeonghan of Vere.”

— And this was the Prince that would one day rule it all.

He swept in and Dokyeom sucked in a breath.

He was _beautiful_.

He was _cold_.

Nothing he heard about the Prince could have prepared Dokyeom for his presence. He had braced himself to see the mirror image of Jisoo, but Jeonghan was nothing like his twin brother. He was a vision in dark purple, cloak draping behind him like a wave, tight clothing laced on every seam. He were no jewellery but the shine of his long silver hair was brighter than any crown, framing high cheekbones and pale unburnt skin. His chin was raised and the angle of his head barely tilted as his gaze directed itself onto Dokyeom. He had expected someone softer, with traces of Jisoo’s warm glow. Prince Jisoo was a god on the battlefield, inspiring respect from all men. This was frozen arrogance incarnated into a boy.

Their eyes met and for half a second, Seokmin could see his jaw harden and his face slacken in shock before the emotion was wiped off his face. The court hushed as Jeonghan strode forwards, circling Dokyeom. Dokyeom bristled, watching his every move, refusing to look away. He may look like a slave, but he was still a crown prince, born and raised for a throne. He may not have his armour, but he still has his dignity.

Jeonghan was close enough that Dokyeom could hear him letting out a measured breath, so soft it was almost a hiss. Then the Prince raised his voice, “And what is this?”. His voice lilted, condescending. Jeonghan was not looking at Dokyeom anymore, lazy eyes on the ambassador.

“T-this, is a gift from the King of Akelios.”

“Remind me who is the King of Akelios now, I’ve seem to have forgotten.”

“King Kiyeol, previously the Kyros of Istima.”

“Ah, so an upstart barbarian to rule barbarians. How fitting.”

Dokyeom reeled upwards, swinging his head at the insult. Jeonghan smoothly side-stepped away. There were more gasps, and Jeonghan’s eyes moved to him again. The look left Dokyeom seething with angry frustration..

“So the Akelions has given me a wild dog. And they call it a gift.”

The ambassador was sweating now, “There’s more your highness — twelve trained slaves of the highest pedigree, tempered bronze and sapphires encased in gold, the finest linen and furs imported from the southern continent — but this slave was specially addressed to you. King Kiyeol believed you would find pleasure in … breaking in …” He gulped, glancing at Dokyeom, “Training. This slave. If it so pleases your highness.”

“You may pass on to your King that I am pleased by his attentive consideration,” Prince Jeonghan’s lip curled, “But what shall I do with a brute that does not speak our language? He is no better than cattle.”

“I speak your language better than you speak mine,” Dokyeom interjected in perfect, unaccented Veretian, “Princess.”

Everyone in the room reeled. One of the pets giggled but were quickly hushed by a courtier. Jeonghan was unmoved, “Is that so? What is your name?”

Dokyeom needed to be quick. He saw Jeonghan’s face and thought of Jisoo.

“Seokmin.” His childhood name, the one closest to his heart.

“Seokmin,” Jeonghan let the syllables roll on his tongue as if he was tasting something unpleasant, “I’m supposed to teach you how to behave.”

Then he strode forward and kicked Seokmin across the cheek.

“Your highness — !”

Gasps echoed immediately through the chamber. Seokmin recoiled, tasting blood. The chain bit into his wrists as he tensed, chest rising with rage. _This_ was Jeonghan. Jisoo would have never treated a slave like this. They are not the same. It was clear that he lived his whole life never expecting to have the throne.

“You are barely a prince,” Seokmin gathered the blood in his mouth and spat in his shoes, “You do not deserve my respect.”

“Oh, my shoes are even dirtier now,” Jeonghan observed, “how inconvenient. I must change before examining the other gifts.”

“Yes your highness,” the ambassador bowed and the whole court exhaled as Jeonghan spun around and left.

For a moment it seemed like no one knew what to do with the bleeding slave in the middle of the hall. Then there was a hustle of movement and he was blindfolded again and lead out.

* * *

Dokyeom barely settled into his quarters when the doors were opening and the two guards were there. The taller one coughed, “The Regent has summoned Prince Jeonghan before the Council. And you as well.”

* * *

There were papers swept all over a massive oak table and 13 men sat around it in various states of lethargy. Some glanced at Jeonghan curiously but most seemed annoyed by the interruption.

The man at the end of the table sat up, “Nephew.”

“Uncle,” Jeonghan placed a hand over his heart and dipped into a graceful bow, “At your request.”

The Regent’s turned his head to Seokmin and without a word a guard stepped up to twist his chin to the side, displaying the bruise on his cheek. He looked at Seokmin long enough for the other councillors to turn around.

“Explain yourself Jeonghan.”

“Discipline,” Jeonghan stated, “I was training him.”

“In front of half the court and the Akielon ambassador?”

“It was necessary.”

“With violence?”

“He insulted me, shall I accept it?”

“You damaged gift of goodwill from King Kiyeol within minutes of receiving it,” The Regent rested his elbows on the table, “What will the courtiers think? Your actions will be perceived as insult and at worst, a declaration of war.” He sighed, “I know you are young and may not understand the intricacy of diplomacy but while naivety is forgivable, rash impudence is not.”

The Regent motioned at the papers on the table, “We work for hours drafting the terms of the treaty, labouring for weeks to secure peace between our two countries. But nephew, without thinking you undo our diligence.”

More heads are turning from the paperwork to the situation. Seokmin knows that the scene before him carries something insidiously Veretian. He cannot pinpoint the motivation but this feels like a scripted play and he was a plot device.

“You will ascend to the throne in autumn. You need to start acting like a King and less like a boy,” the Regent nodded at Seokmin, “I heard even the slave thinks you are unfit to rule.”

“Do you think this is a courtesy?” Jeonghan raised his voice, sweeping his arms across the room and now every eye was on him, “Everyone knows that Akelion slaves are only trained for bedding. The instant he entered every courtier was imagining me under him.”

“I do not expect you to be this prudish Jeonghan. Slaves are not an uncommon gift and,” The Regent raised an eyebrow at the councillor beside him, “I’m sure some of us here will appreciate the generosity.”

There were a few chuckles and the Regent shrugged jovially.

“With all respect Uncle,” Jeonghan’s tone was hard, “Jisoo was killed by Prince Dokyeom at Marlas. Every peasant within the two kingdoms knows this, and now King Kiyeol wants me to spread my legs for an Akielon soldier. Forgive me for declining.”

Silence. Seokmin tried not to shiver. Now every gaze seemed to avoid him.

Jeonghan dipped his head, “If it pleases, may I be excused.”

The Regent waved his hand and sighed, “I do not like arguing with you Jeonghan, what happened to the lovely young boy I once knew?”

“I grew up Uncle,” Jeonghan’s hair hid his expression, “If it pleases.”

* * *

Seokmin did not see Jeonghan for a week as he was not summoned to court nor for any other … service. He was kept in his suite but as luxurious the room was, the chain on his neck kept him from enjoying it fully. He paced in circles, then did push-ups and other spot exercises hoping for the carpet to wear thin. The maids skittled around him, popping in to drop this meals just within his reach before scurrying out again. He asks about the other slaves but no one answers him. He worries about the state of affairs in Ios, about his mother, about his right hand man, Hansol.

The guards did not acknowledge him at all, but their gossip filtered through the doors and that was all the company Seokmin enjoyed.

The shorter guard (his name was Chan) got his 12 silver pieces by believing in the Prince’s chastity. The other guard (Soonyoung) was a voracious talker that pounced on any living being with ears. Unfortunately, his dubious charms mostly targeted Chan who was unable to escape his tirades.

Seokmin learns that half the palace thinks Jeonghan is a cast iron bitch, and the other half wants to spread his legs. Apparently those were not mutually exclusive. Example: Soonyoung.

Most of Arles’ staff serve the royal family as a whole, but the Regent kept his own household as did the Prince, distinguished by their colours of red and purple.

The Regent will be riding out to Chastillon for a hunting trip. There will be a Vaskian delegation arriving to discuss a trade agreement. The northern border is holding up against the bandits but there are talks of recruiting more soldiers. The young Patran emperor was crazy. Ah, but even Seokmin knew that.

Importantly, Seokmin hears snatches of news from Akielos. Prince Dokyeom was dead. The Lee dynasty was over. The new King had married the widowed queen. The northern provinces which were loyal to the old family are restless but the south were rich from sea-trade and had enough troops to demand acquiescence. For now. The chambermaid thinks there will be a civil war. Soonyoung heartily agrees with her.

“If the Akielon north is distracted, then we could take back Delfeur,” Chan commented acutely. Seokmin itched to hear more but that line of conversation was cut short as the chambermaid ran away.

Soonyoung and Chan’s wore part of Jeonghan’s guard and were the main ones stationed in his quarters, doing patrols and occasionally lingering to watch him run through his exercises. Although both were sullen to begin with, it look less than a week before Soonyoung started chatting to Seokmin instead of Chan.

But they were rarely called away for other tasks. Sometimes they left a plain-clothed soldier to watch Seokmin but even then it was for a short periods of time.

Jeonghan seemed every inch the scholar prince, held up in the castle with his books, never having led a regiment let alone a battle. His translucent-pale skin may be valued in the insulated chambers of Arles, but it did not compare to Jisoo’s bronzed tan that was earned by hours of fighting and riding under the sun. Jeonghan did not carry the substance that made kings, perhaps having grown up his whole life under Jisoo’s shadow, assured of a life full of comfort and without responsibility.

In the evening Jeonghan would retire to his chambers and Seokmin would hear his soft footsteps as he walked past, greeting the guards with a voice made of tempered steel. Only once the footsteps seemed to stop outside his door, the briefest interval of silence that would have been missed if Seokmin was not listening for it, bracing himself to endure. But Jeonghan did not enter and the footsteps continued on.

* * *

One day he heard a knock and then without pause, in sailed a Veretian pet, tall and lithe. The guards turned their heads as he walked past. Head high, the pet was decorated in the fine jewellery that marked him as a valued and important. He had a long fringe and black hair lining his long neck. He wore loose blue silks that flashed skin as he walked, an accessible temptation. On one ear he had three chained earrings, sapphires dangling onto his shoulder. The pet stopped a few paces away and pierced his gaze on Seokmin.

“What do you want,” Seokmin’s skin prickled. There was an uncanny similarity in the way this pet and Jeonghan both looked at Seokmin. Like looking into the eyes of a snake.

A moment of silence, then the pet tilted his head, “Just wondering how you fit in.”

“To what?”

The pet did not answer. He slinked around Seokmin as if examining a statue from different angles. He finished one circumference then pursing his lips, he spun around and strode through the door, earrings tinkling.

Seokmin blinked and looked at the guards, “Who was that?”

Soonyoung huffed as if regaining his breath, “God.”

“No his name is Minghao,” Chan sighed as if the topic of conversation tired him, “Royal pet.”

“Who does he belong to?”

“Well,” Chan shrugged, “He’s technically Jeonghan’s.”

 _Jeonghan’s_. Seokmin reshuffled his impressions. The prince did not seem like someone who would keep a pet, too aloof and frigid, apparently above the debauchery of Veretian culture. But the thought of Jeonghan and Minghao together — “Jeonghan keeps pets? But I thought he didn’t take anyone to bed?”

“He doesn’t! Minghao does though. Lots.” Soonyoung blushed. Chan rolled his eyes.

“It’s complicated. But I would stay out of his way if I were you. He’s a lot to handle”

Seokmin pointedly rattled the chain around his wrists, “Noted. Anyone else I should stay clear of?”

Soonyoung and Chan looked at each other. Then they said at the same time: “Kim Heechul.”

* * *

“This is incredibly invasive.”

“Listen young man, if you’re going anywhere near the Prince I need to do a thorough check that you’re not carrying any diseases” Kim Heechul, royal physician to Jeonghan’s household, reached for the garment that protected Seokmin’s nether regions.

Seokmin darted away, out of reach of Heechul’s grabbing hands, “I don’t understand why this part is necessary.”

“Just in case the Prince is in an amorous mood.”

“The Prince is never in an amorous mood!” Seokmin squawked.

“He has a point,” Soonyoung commented from the door.

“Stay out of this,” Heechul waved a pair of forceps, “professionals only.”

“Jacking off a slave doesn’t sound very professional,” quipped Chan.

“Neither is peeping into a medical examination, now scram.”

Grumbling, both of them closed the door.

“Now where were we,” Heechul turned around.

Seokmin closed his eyes, “I would prefer to pleasure myself and ejaculate into a dish. Privately.”

Heechul cackled, “No you don’t need to do that. I just wanted them out of the room.”

Seokmin gulped but his shoulders untensed as he watched Heechul put down the forceps and took out equipment that he was more familiar with. A measuring tape, a tiny needle, an ear trumpet.

“You’re cute when you’re stressed. Now arms out.”

Seokmin did as he was told and for a minute, Heechul was silent as he flitted around and took Seokmin’s measurements. Seokmin took the time to think. Heechul was older and there was something … balanced about him that did not seemed inclined to the prejudice that most Veretians fell into.

“How long have you served the Prince?”

“Ooh, very clever. Getting information,” Heechul coos, “Terrible pick-up line though.”

Seokmin stared over his shoulder into the back corner.

“You’re lucky I have a weak spot for foreigners,” said Heechul, “I’ve been here a long time. Since they were conceived, I watched the two of them grow up.”

 _Jisoo and Jeonghan_ , the thought penetrated Seokmin and as it sunk into his chest, his world reshaped around this history. There was a new depth to the confident Jisoo that he met at Delpha, a Jisoo before he grew into the role of crown prince. A younger Jisoo, happier, wilder.

And Jeonghan.

“What were they like,” he asked softly.

“As children? _Darlings_.” Heechul clucked, “You will never see a more beautiful set of siblings, like cherubs sent down from heaven. I’m sure there’s at least a dozen portraits of them in the west wing if they ever let you out.”

“Were they similar?” Seokmin tried to align his memories of Jisoo with his knowledge of Jeonghan.

“So much. Behaviour, temperament, everything. They’re twins after all. Actually when they were young, it was impossible to tell them apart,” sighing, Heechul spun the pen in his hands, “And did they abuse that. They would trick the servants all the time, blaming each other for their crimes and pretending to be each other to escape classes. Arles was brighter then, lively with their laughter.”

“The Jeonghan now, why is he so…” Seokmin broke off, hesitating. Heechul was loyal to the Prince after all.

“Vicious? Petty? Like he was born with an iron fist but up his arse?”

“… unpleasant,” Seokmin conceded.

Heechul barked out a laugh and then he looked at Seokmin sideways, “Jisoo and Jeonghan were close. And then Jisoo left for Delpha.”

The silence stretched on between them, save for the sound of Heechul’s pen scratch. The next time he spoke, the words were measured out in fine increments, “Arles has transformed in the last two years. Everyone grieves in their own way, and grief does not depart so easily.”

 _Grief_. This was something Seokmin knew about, a feeling that sometimes felt so raw he could feel it clawing his heart out. Some nights he woke up heaving, woken up by blood and sweat, the feeling of flesh beneath the sword. Jisoo’s last, sad, smile.

Grief and guilt.

Seokmin was almost content to let the silence take over again, but there was something he had to know. There was someone whose existence could threaten the safety of his life in Vere. Someone who was at Marlas. Who would know his face like the back of his hand.

“Jisoo’s guard,” asked Seokmin, “What happened to them after he passed?”

Heechul raised an eyebrow but he did not comment on the question, “They were reassigned. Most went back into the army,” he paused, “except the captain. He left to the Northern Border.”

“Why?”

“My, you have a lot of questions,” Heechul flashed his teeth, “Maybe he liked the cold.”

“Was he close to the two princes?”

“Very. He grew up with them. Now spread your legs,” Heechul put on a pair of silk gloves, “I wasn’t lying when I said I needed to check.

Seokmin closed his eyes.

* * *

It was a clear sunny day. Seokmin can guess from the commotion and whinnying outside that the Regent is departing on the boar hunt. As if calculated, an hour after the noise quietens down, he was called to Jeonghan’s chambers. This time it was Heechul that came in to scrub him clean and perfume him with jasmine and frangipani. Seokmin bared his teeth when Heechul tried to approach him with tweezers.

When Soonyoung unchained him before Jeonghan’s door, he made Seokmin look at him in the eye, “Don’t do anything funny.” He motioned a cutting motion across his neck.

Jeonghan was reading papers on the chaise. He was barely sitting, lounging on the velvet like a cat in the sun, his limbs draped over the contours.

Seokmin forced himself to go on his knees and bend his head, “Your highness.”

Jeonghan did not respond, did not even raise his head to acknowledge Seokmin’s presence. He could only watch as Jeonghan took petite sips from his cup and flicked through pages with a delicate finger. Frustration picked at his limbs as he continued kneeling in silence.

‘Your highness,” Seokmin pushed out, “How may I be of service.”

“Nothing,” Jeonghan didn’t even look up, “I like seeing men on their knees. Especially Akielons.”

 _You’re not even looking_ , Seokmin sulked. Jeonghan turned another page. Seokmin remained on his knees. Half an hour passed.

Jeonghan hummed, “I suppose you could assist me.”

Seokmin tensed.

“I am very much in need of some hot, strong,” Jeonghan paused, “Tea. Do get me some.”

Flushing, Seokmin stood up. Then stumbled as he looked around the room for anything that looked it could hold tea leaves. The cabinet on the left looked promising so he walked over. Every jar he opened held inedible objects — and with every noise and failure Seokmin became ever more aware of Jeonghan’s presence behind him. There wasn’t even anything resembling a pot. Perhaps he needed to call a servant.

“Your highness…” Seokmin gave in, “Where is the tea?”

Jeonghan slowly looked up from his book then looked to the side, right at the teapot simmering on the small table next to his elbow.

Seokmin had to suck in a breath to keep himself from swearing. _He is insufferable_.

What would Jisoo be doing if he was here, if he was about to ascend the throne in two seasons. Definitely not reading for leisure. He would be out there, amongst his men and preparing himself for kinghood.

Carefully holding in his expression, Seokmin walked over and spitefully poured the tea until it reached the edge of Jeonghan’s cup, almost overflowing. Jeonghan did not notice, or perhaps he chose not to. Seokmin put down the teapot daintily and was about to step away when Jeonghan spoke.

“You do not talk like a slave. And you are not trained like the others.”

Seokmin forced himself to hold himself still.

“No.”

“Then you were..?”

Best to partly agree than deny outright, “A soldier.”

“And how did you end up as a slave?”

“I displeased the King, and this was my punishment.” _A partial truth._

“How long were you a soldier for?”

“5 years now.”

“Then you were at Marlas,” Jeonghan asked smoothly.

“Yes,” Seokmin pushed out.

“Did you see Prince Jisoo?”

Seokmin swallowed. _Yes, I saw his last moments. I killed him._ ”Only from a distance.”

“And Prince Dokyeom?” Jeonghan’s gaze was piercing. Seokmin felt like a mouse in a trap, or a ship circling a maelstrom.

“I fought by his side.”

“And what do you think of him.”

Seokmin tested the words in his mind before speaking. “I think my opinion would be very different to yours.”

Jeonghan hummed, less like a song and more like the warning of a bee about to sting, “You know, I was on the field at Marlas.”

Seokmin stilled, every muscle frozen.

“But they wouldn’t let me near the front. I never had the chance to face him and tell him what I thought,” Jeonghan said, “Jisoo was exhausted and Dokyeom was fresh, yet he challenged him. Jisoo trusted him as friend, and died for it. By that duel, Vere lost a Prince, a war, and the region of Delfeur.”

Jeonghan turned a page in his book, as if he never stopped reading, “I think Prince Dokyeom of Akielos is a coward. It is both a joy and a pity that he is dead. He deserved to die, but I would have preferred to kill him myself.”

* * *

When Seokmin finally exited Jeonghan’s chambers he wanted to laugh.

His life was safe, but threat of death hung above him on a thread.

* * *

The hunt had resulted in two wild boars that were swiftly taken to the kitchens to be roasted. For the first time, Seokmin was asked to serve in a public event.

Heechul stripped and redressed him until Seokmin was shining and fragrant. The whole time while he worked, Heechul gave him a lecture on Veretian etiquette. How to bow towards different courtiers depending on their rank and faction, the order of the courses and the timing of entertainment in between, and what was expected of Seokmin while he waited on Jeonghan. Heechul gave up halfway through describing the procession of silver cutlery on the left side of the plate when he saw the blank look in Seokmin’s eyes.

“Tsk, Akielons only use a fork and a knife right.”

 _On the field we use our hands._ Seokmin held his tongue.

“Please behave and don’t embarrass the Prince. I don’t understand why he thinks this is a good idea but…” Heechul threaded a golden coil through his hair, “Stay quiet, obey Jeonghan, and refrain from attacking or molesting anyone.” Heechul made a cupping motion with his hand that was vaguely suggestive of violence to Seokmin’s testicles.

“Is he ready?” it was Minghao in the doorway, “I’ll take him.”

Seokmin eyed Minghao, who wore a loose blue doublet that was belted to show off his slim waist. Gold jewellery encircled thin wrists. He wasn’t wearing any pants, and of course, carried no weapons. Seokmin could snap his neck with his thighs.

Behind him, Chan glanced nervously at Soonyoung and mouthed something like, _should we let him._

Soonyoung held Chan back but still, he was leaning forward on the balls of his feet when Minghao slinked towards Seokmin. Moved his hand to his sword when Minghao unlocked Seokmin from the chain on his floor and clicked on a velvet leash.

“If we’re not there in a quarter of an hour you can sound the alarm,” Minghao glanced over his shoulder, “but it won’t be necessary. He will be perfectly behaved.”

With that he tugged on the leash and lead Seokmin outside.

“Why should I listen to you?”

With the shameless poise of a domestic cat, Minghao looked Seokmin in the eye and pushed over a porcelain vase. It shattered on the floor between them, water and flowers spraying across the swirling Veretian carpet.

“Oh dear,” Minghao drawled, face deadpan. At the sound of hurrying footsteps, his face transformed. Long fingers delicately covered an open mouth, eyes widened, his head tilted so that the chandelier of an earring sparkled in the light.

A maid turned the corner and Minghao looked like he was blinking away tears. If Seokmin didn’t know better his heart would have melted.

“I am _so_ sorry for the trouble,” Minghao sniffed, “The slave was being difficult and I thought I had him under control but —“

“It’s no matter,” the maid dipped her head, “We will clean it up immediately.”

“You have my gratitude,” Minghao tugged Seokmin’s chain, “Please excuse us.”

Once they turned the corner Minghao’s bored drawl was back, “Close your mouth or I will stuff my fist in there.”

Seokmin snapped his jaw shut and knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Minghao was Jeonghan’s pet. They were made for each other. They may not have swords, but they had their tongue which was sharper than any blade.

Minghao did not blindfold him and Seokmin thought he had forgotten, but as they walked along the winding corridors of Arles, Seokmin understood that it was deliberate. Despite the ostentatious decoration, there was nowhere to hide and the plush carpet muffled sound so that it was impossible to tell who was around the corner. Out of the windows, Seokmin saw flashes of the castle wall and a moat beyond that. There were guards on every corner and every one was marked by their livery, purple for Jeonghan, red for the Regent. Seokmin, with his tanned skin, can easily be spotted amongst Veretian staff, like a black sheep amongst white. Even then, his slave’s attire would have discriminated him from a mile away.

It was as if Minghao was daring him to think about escaping, silently mocking any hope Seokmin held. _Even if he knew a way out, it would be impossible to execute_.

As they drew closer to what must’ve been the lower levels of the palace, Seokmin heard the noise and chatter rise. All of a sudden, Minghao slowed down.

“I don’t supposed you’ve seen Veretian entertainment?” he looked slyly over his shoulder.

Seokmin faltered in his step. Oh he heard about it but —

* * *

Seokmin politely tried to keep his eyes away from the two pets dramatically copulating in the center of the banquet but their moaning rang in his ears and ruined his appetite. He did not understand how a country whose people refused to bare an inch of skin enjoyed the most intimate aspect of private life in public performance.

Minghao had a seat next to Jeonghan but he only sat down for the first course before he was up, flitting between tables as easily as a fairy. At one point he was even at the Regent’s table, pouring him a goblet of mead.

Seokmin caught Jaehyun’s eye across the hall. He was by an older gentleman, carefully helping him wipe his mouth. Jaehyun was smiling, and to an unfamiliar eye, he was the perfect image of domestic service. But Seokmin knew what a content slave of Akielos acted, he grew up with being served by slaves at Ios and he could see that Jaehyun was uncomfortable. His movements lacked the sensual elegance of a confident slave, and his eyes were darting between his master and the table, his master and his friends, his master and the servant. Jaehyun also favoured his right leg and bent his left knee stiffly. When he walked, there was a barely perceptible limp. Jaehyun looked away.

Seokmin frowned and scanned the room. There were other Akielon slaves here, serving at this banquet. One of the other Councillor’s pets stuck out his foot as a slave walked past, causing the slave to stumble and spill wine from the jug in his hands. The resulting peal of laughter could be heard from Seokmin’s place at the front of the hall. The slave flushed and squeezed his eyes shut.

Akielon’s slaves were trained to be submissive, but there was an unspoken contract that this obedience should be repaid in care and respect. Slaves were dependent on their masters for happiness but if the master was cruel, then their suffering would be compounded tenfold because they were never taught to protect themselves, only to expect perfect love in return for perfect service.

They were lambs in a court full of wolves.

There had to be something he could do.

There was nothing he could do.

Seokmin was chained and on his knees, eating out of the hand of a man who despised all Akielons because of what Seokmin did three years ago. He himself was also a slave.

For the first time since arriving in Vere, Seokmin felt powerless. He had always seen his enslavement as temporary, a small inconvenience that would be swept away in time. He always thought it inevitable that he would make it home somehow, escaping southward across Vere until he reached the border. Then he would be safe in the company of his most loyal kyroi. From there the news would spread that Prince Dokyeom was alive after all, and then all he had to do was sweep across Akielos and take back Ios from Kiyeol. He could organise an army and lead a campaign with no trouble, had done it successfully before, when Akielos reclaimed Delfeur at Marlas.

That was the daydream which kept Seokmin from the swirling depth of hopelessness. He never doubted that he could go home.

But for slaves like Jaehyun, their life would never change unless someone acted for them. When they walked onto that ship bound for Vere, they probably looked at the white marble and blue waves, and believed they would never see Akielos again.

How could he become king, if Seokmin could not protect those who are powerless?

“I see you tamed him,” Councillor Leeteuk was conversing with Jeonghan about the arriving Vaskian delegation and the topic turned to Seokmin. Leeteuk reached out a tentative hand towards Seokmin’s head.

Seokmin snapped his teeth. He was not an animal to be petted.

“Not that tame,” said Jeonghan.

He didn’t reprimand Seokmin, as if Seokmin’s violence did not bother him as long as it was directed at others. There was a perverse pride in how Jeonghan was threading his fingers through the exact same patch of hair that the Councillor tried to touch. Seokmin’s toned muscles and metal restraints was a vast difference to the pampered lap dogs that were the Veretian pets. They giggled in their master’s arms and played with the food on the table.

The Emperor of Patras kept two leopards chained by his throne. Seokmin tried not to feel like one of them.

“Perhaps I haven’t fed him yet,” Jeonghan mused, picking up a confectionery between his thumb and forefinger. He held it close to himself so that Seokmin would need to rise on his knees and stretch across Jeonghan’s lap to eat it.

A few other courtiers nearby stopped their conversation to watch.

For a brief moment Seokmin imagined the look on Leeteuk’s face if he strangled his Prince.

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow as if challenging Seokmin to try the most savage way to reject the offering.

Seokmin thought of Jaehyun and made a plan.

He clenched his abdomen so he didn’t need to lean on Jeonghan, but Seokmin made sure his teeth grazed Jeonghan’s baby smooth fingertips as his lips closed over the sweetmeat.

A shocked reaction rolled over the court. It was clear they had never seen Jeonghan do this sort of thing, to Minghao, or to anyone. A nearby lady fluttered her fan and bent her head to whisper to her neighbour.

Jeonghan side-eyed Seokmin but a tight smiled remained on his face as he gracefully dipped his hand in a gold washing bowl before wiping on a little square of cloth.

Seokmin chewed spitefully. Councillor Leeteuk made a few small remarks before excusing himself.

“Interesting~” Jeonghan commented, singing out each syllable, “You can behave after all.”

Seokmin forced himself to bend his head, “There is something I want to ask of you.”

“You are asking something of me?” Jeonghan crossed his legs, “Presumptuous.”

“You’ll get something in return,” said Seokmin.

“You are a slave with nothing. What do you have that a Prince could want?”

“My obedience.”

Seokmin could feel Jeonghan stir at the idea. He was not looking, but Seokmin could tell that the cold mind was playing with the new idea, taking the puzzle piece and trying to fit it into the complicated picture of Veretian politics.

“You saw the effect when I submit. I can do that again. If you want me on your lap like a pet, I will do that. You want the court to view you with awe. I can show them. In return for one thing.”

“Don’t get overeager.”

“The Akielon slaves are being mistreated. If you help them then I will serve you without complaint.”

“The slaves?” Jeonghan looked at him out of the corner of his eye “You have me believe you are concerned for their welfare? Akielos is the only country within the four seas that train the will out of a man. If they can not protect themselves then place the blame on your barbaric society.”

Seokmin ignored the wave of indignation he felt, “You do not understand. They are trained to obey, but in return they are treated with the highest honour and respect in Akielos. I don’t know what is the cultural norm in Vere, but what I see now is cruelty.”

Seokmin saw Jeonghan look up to scan the hall.

“Please, they are not like me. They don’t deserve this. They are not soldiers. They… have not killed anyone.” _Like I have._

“Kiss my shoe.”

“What?” Seokmin reeled.

Jeonghan angled his foot.

There were no courtiers to watch this, Seokmin was hidden by the table. This was humiliation for Jeonghan’s humour alone.

Seokmin knelt down and pressed his lips against Jeonghan’s shoe until he felt the skin beneath the fabric. Then he raised his head.

Jeonghan was not a man with a repertoire of expressions, but the look on his face was on the spectrum of surprised. “You’re serious about this.”

“You think,” Seokmin frowned, “I was speaking in jest?”

Jeonghan’s mouth thinned and Seokmin flared.

“You think I have another reason?”

“I know you’ve paid a visit to my Uncle.”

“He… just inquired about my services,” said Seokmin. He had to tread carefully here, “and reminded me of my place.”

“I do not underestimate his influence,” stated Jeonghan.

“How do I persuade you? I don’t think like Veretians in their doublespeak. When I talk, I only have one intention. When I act, I move truthfully and not for any one of a dozen motives. You lie to your own uncle and the council.”

Jeonghan was quiet for a moment and Seokmin began to panic, perhaps he pushed too hard —

“Lets play a game,” said Jeonghan, “If you win I’ll alleviate the situation.”

Seokmin sat up, “What game?”

“A simple one that I suppose even an Akielon could play,” Jeonghan tilted his head, “Scissors, paper, rock.”

Seokmin felt anger bubble up. Jeonghan was trivialising the fate of a dozen lives to a children’s game of chance.

_Obey._

Seokmin clenched his jaw and raised a fist in preparation. Jeonghan raised his as well.

_Scissors._

_Paper._

_Rock._

Seokmin threw out a rock. Jeonghan’s hand was still retracted. A second later, he stretched out his fingers into paper.

“I win,” Jeonghan clicked his tongue, “Good. Because I never wanted to help anyway.”

“Y-you, _cheated,_ ” Seokmin stared at Jeonghan in shock. _What do you have against us,_ Seokmin wanted to yell. But deep down he knew the answer. “That’s unfair,” he said, quieter.

“ _Too bad_ ,” Jeonghan reached out with his open hand and slowly enveloped Seokmin’s fist.

It took Seokmin a few moments to realise that Jeonghan spoke in Akelion. There was the slightest accent that showed he did not have practice, but the grammar was perfect. And then he realised Jeonghan touched him. Surprisingly, the hands were calloused, not the soft pads of a pure page-turner.

“ _Life is unfair. Marlas was unfair. But history sides with the victors.”_ Another courtier was approaching and Jeonghan plastered on a tight-lipped smile, speaking through his teeth, “ _My brother made the mistake of trusting an Akielon. I will not repeat it_.”

“And he has the cutest laugh when he teases you,” Jisoo dipped his chin and raised a shoulder, shying away from Seokmin and giggling. Gone was the regal confidence that could hold up the sky, the feline gaze that could pin dukes to their place. The first time Jisoo showed this side of him, it shocked Seokmin how easily he morphed into someone else.

“Seokminnie~” Jisoo whined in a high pitched voice, “play with me~”. Then he coughed lightly, “Okay maybe Jeonghan doesn’t sound like that.”

Jisoo swatted Seokmin’s wrist, and it hurt, but Seokmin didn’t mind because one of his favourite Jisoo’s, was the Jisoo that talks about Jeonghan.

Seokmin could close his eyes and hear the happiness in his voice. Then he would open this them and see the warmth in Jisoo’s face, like the earth lit aglow by sun.

That was a long time ago. A moment that seemed more like a dream than a memory.

* * *

Five years ago there was an arrangement. The kingdoms of Akielos and Vere would try to negotiate a peace treaty to end the years of skirmishes along their border. As a token of good faith, the eldest prince of each kingdom would stay in Delfeur, a Veretian settlement that would host the delegates.

Dokyeom kept his distance, allowed the diplomats to sweep him from meeting to meeting. He let servants pass between them and kept their conversations separate. From afar, the Veretian prince was all stately grace and pleasant manners. He thanked even the lowest of maids and dipped his head at every courtesy.

It was Jisoo who approached him first, asking for his dinner to be set next to Dokyeom’s, instead of across the grand table. It was Jisoo who smiled when they passed, until Dokyeom too, started to smile in response. Within a month they were training together and sharing the various frustrations of being a crown prince. Then they were sharing notes at meetings, developing and defending each other’s ideas, even against their own countrymen.

Jisoo was infinitely patient and unendingly kind. He was the one who smiled as a Akielon ambassador pelted a cheeseboard at a Veretian ambassador. He was the one who stepped in, again and again, to mediate between two countries that hated each other.

Dokyeom watched him and saw a man who was born to be King. He looked at Jisoo and wanted to place his heart on the floor at his feet.

* * *

After a meeting, Dokyeom had pulled Jisoo by his waistcoat.

“You can call me Seokmin,” he said, “Dokyeom is my formal name.”

Jisoo smiled and said, “Thank you,” as if he was given something precious.

 _Oh._ From then on, he had looked at Jisoo differently. Not just a crown prince of an enemy country, but a friend who had the keys to his soul.

Across the banquet hall, the Regent has pulled Minghao into his lap. Minghao was smiling at the Regent, but the Regent was looking at Jeonghan, and Jeonghan was looking at Minghao.

It was so difficult to imagine Jisoo here. Pure, honest, Jisoo in the Veretian court of political traps and old conspiracies. Where every action had four puppeteers and ten intentions.

Seokmin looked at Jeonghan and wanted to see him on his knees. He wanted to watch him buckle under the weight of kinghood which Jisoo had lifted so easily.

He can not look at Jeonghan without thinking of Jisoo. Of Jisoo’s smile, his last words, his blood on Seokmin’s sword.

Heechul’s words rang in his head,

_Grief does not depart so easily._


End file.
